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Bob on Broadway

11/30/2018

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A Week of Dylan at the UWS Beacon Theater

By Caitlin Hawke

Image of the Beacon's marquis showing
Ladies and gentlemen, friends and neighbors. Let it be said that the week was good to us on Broadway. For starters, after a good soaking rain, we got repaved up in Bloomingdale (thank you DOT -- not a moment too soon). And a wee mile south of here, Bob Dylan gave us a little shelter from the storm.

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you might roll your eyes that I am squeezing Dylan in again. But I can't help it. The idea that the nonplussed Nobelist would take up a seven-night residency in my neighborhood gave me two full months of delicious anticipation. Over the weeks, I sprinkled in a couple of trips to The Public to see Conor McPherson's play "Girl from the North Country" to stave off the yearning. It satisfied and distracted me enough to get me to Thanksgiving and then just one week remained 'til I walked down our main drag to the Beacon to take in Dylan's fifth of seven Upper West Side shows.

Before I tell you about the concert -- and like Donald Fagen, Ringo Starr, and the irredeemable jerk who ruined the most beautiful ballad of the show last night before he was ejected by Beacon muscle, perhaps you also made your way to the Beacon and will tell me in the comments how you experienced this round -- I need to say a little something about this Homer from Hibbing, notorious for thin wild mercury ways. 

One: he never, ever, ever gives you what you think you are going to get or even what (you think) you want. Let me give you an analogy that comes from a past experience. Say you were cooking with Bob. And you both decided that you would get home early, lay out all the ingredients and then when he got home you would cook together. And say you had in mind using what was familiar and on hand. So, you saw reason to make an omelet and set out eggs, which you pre-beat, some onions, tomatoes, perhaps some cheese. When he comes home, you think to you yourself, the two of you will jump into action, utterly in sync, and whip that omelet up. Man gets home. Sees the path you are leading him down. Feels a tad fenced in. And before you know it, he's added bonito flakes, shredded seaweed and toasted sesame seeds to your eggs and is serving it up katsu-style over rice. Your head spins.

I am not sure if you follow my digression. But Bob will not be defined. Nor will he go where you want or expect. Best to come to your seat and see what the Master whips up. And just be thankful he's still cookin'.

Two: his Nobel was for literature, but it could just as easily have been for the art of imitation. He is the ne plus ultra of mimicry. His muse comes in many forms, and one is to incarnate others. Think Johnny Cash and country Bob's Nashville Skyline Voice. Think of his blues. His gospel. His Rolling Stones-like Rock and Roll. Think of his recent crooning and complete embodiment of Sinatra. When Bob goes on an impersonating jag, he goes deep and he goes long.

So, on Thursday night, I was open to the unexpected. Last year this time, he was Bing-Bob, Sinatra-Bob. But my friends, after five full LPs of ol' Blue Eyes covers, the crooner fever seems to have broken.

Instead we got a concept show of Bob deconstructing Bob.  Bob on Bob, if you will.

Beacon-Bob has delivered this whole week long a resounding reply to Bruce Springsteen's Broadway gig. Where Bruce was stripped down, solo, Bob was still kitted out with the best band in the business. But make no mistake: this show was to Springsteen's like a response to a call. 

He crafted it to be fully immersive. From the curtain that rose (see what I mean about Bruce on Bway?) telling us we were in a show, to the uniform-clad boys in the band in that bath of warm incandescent lighting, to the sumptuous set with his gleaming Oscar for "Wonder Boys" and an unexplained classical bust of a woman on prominent display, to the shiny baby grand that he would Jerry-Lee-Lewis into submission: Dylan's point this week -- and presumably on this leg of the Never Ending Tour -- was to create an ambiance and a full-on 'concept spectacle.' And once the physical part of the stage was set, he and his boys turned to the metaphysics of this concept piece: the playing, and the smithing of the old into the new.

Throughout the concert, I kept imagining how each new rendition of so many deeply familiar songs had come to their novel melodies and arrangements.  Was it Bob solo in his studio reworking them? Did he consult a producer? Did the band work it all out together?  My best guess it the former. What's true is that he always does this change up, switching in new melodies and making old songs hard to recognize until the chorus betrays the novelty. Akin to the way a jazz musician riffs and keeps it interesting, Bob's method can hardly be faulted; he's been out on the road for 50 years. Clearly, performing scratches an itch for him. But strictly on his terms. And he refuses to let his art bore or grind him down.

When Paul Simon retired from touring recently, he said he'd been out there so long he felt like he was a cover band for his own music, phoning in "You Can Call Me Al" and deriving no pleasure from being a performance monkey, feeling the audience's demand to deliver each song precisely as recorded to no longer be a bearable endeavor.

At the Beacon this week, on our boulevard, Dylan delivered transformative versions of his songs, not stripped down like Bruce Springsteen's. But tightly conceived to pack in the ambiance he wanted to stagecraft: spiked with American 1950s music, Jerry Lee Lewis was definitely in the house. Tinged with some rocking Warren Zevon. There was even a trace of Daniel Lanois, though Dylan would fight that thought.

To understand, you have to listen for yourself. I am putting a link to a rough recording of Tuesday night's show at the bottom of this post (if you are receiving this in an email, you'll need to click on the title of the post at top to go to the blog page and stream it from there). But if you feel it's a slog to go through the whole concert or if you are not a Dylanista but are a bit curious, perhaps skipping to these three selections will make it easier on you, and yes, I get that this is an acquired taste, the rough audience recording and the gruff singing. So if it's not for you, it's not for you.

Don't Think Twice, It's All Right 1:09:35
Gotta Serve Somebody 1:32:09
Blowin' In The Wind 1:42:44

Keep in mind that listening to the guerilla concert recording won't come close to the full experience Dylan conceived for this residency.

So, better yet try to get in! You have exactly ONE more chance in this limited UWS engagement because on Saturday night after the last gig, he pushes on for Philly where he's the inaugural act for "The Met Philadelphia" -- Oscar Hammerstein's eponymous grandfather's 110-year-old opera house.

In our nation's first capital, I can't think of a better fanfare to herald the Met's new life than a performance by our national treasure declaring his independence. As indeed he does every time he goes on stage.

That's Dylan. "Always on the outside of whatever side there was. When they asked him why it had to be that way, 'Well,' he answered, 'just because.'"
November 2, 2020 update: the November 27, 2018 full concert is no longer available so the links above to different songs may be broken. Here is the recording of the November 29, 2018 concert as a replacement.
The full concert recording above will not appear if you are receiving this in an email; click on the title of the post to see the video on the blog or go to youtube.

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Wine, Cheese and Music, Music, Music

11/29/2018

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Bloomingdale School of Music Makes Time for Music Making

By Caitlin Hawke

The Bloomingdale School of Music at 323 West 108th Street wants to spread the love.

These days we can all use a little love. So here’s a chance to share some music, to make some music, or to learn a bit more about how to make time for making music from author Amy Nathan.

On Thursday, December 6 at 7 p.m., a meet up and free concert will feature a range of players from beginner pianists to jazz ensemble and chamber players. A wine and cheese reception follow.

See below for details and to RSVP or to request information, please email events@bsmny.org.
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The Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group Presents…

11/22/2018

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Come Give Thanks on November 27th - It's Our History!

By Caitlin Hawke

Spearheaded by neighbors Nancy Macagno and Pam Tice, the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group have pulled together a program "Bloomingdale Blocks" featuring the history of how block associations got started in these parts with help from the Citizens Committee for New York City. Note the groovy detail from our June 15, 1972, newsletter showing the then-directors of this BA looking like they stepped right out of the musical Hair.

David Reich, Mort Berkowitz and Jean Jaworek all will present.Details in the flyer below.

​Come on out on Tuesday and give thanks.

In the meantime, a very happy TG to you all!
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The Triple Threat Living among Us

11/20/2018

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Actor, Singer, Director Estelle Parsons in Her Bloomingdale Walkabout

By Caitlin Hawke

She turns 91 today. The great Estelle Parsons. No better way to celebrate her verve, than to watch her walk the neighborhood in the interview below.  If you are receiving this post by email subscription, you'll have to go to the blog to see this video that will, I guarantee, delight you. If you don't come away shaking your head as to why she isn't in her own starring role each and every season on Broadway, I will come shake your head for you. It's an oft-repeated truism that we need more roles for women, more roles for women older than 40, more roles written by women. And more roles for Estelle Parsons. Maybe you saw her in August Osage County or perhaps as Clyde Barrow's sister-in-law, Blanche back in the day.

Her intensity and her energy are her superpowers that allow her to thieve every scene she's in.

Below, I give you, Estelle Parsons, in her natural habitat, and a hat tip to her on her birthday!

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Throwback Thursday, Bloomingdale Edition

11/15/2018

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1930: The Bloomingdale Trivium at West End Avenue, Broadway and 107th Street

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By Caitlin Hawke

It's late on a Thursday so you'll have this throwback on Friday. But do come travel with me in time to just about two months after Black Tuesday, 1929. The new year 1930 has been rung in, it's good and cold, the Great Depression has begun. But unemployment won't peak for three more years in the city. 

And the great bellowing lung of our neighborhood, Straus Park, pays it all no heed. For here is a town square where folks of all ages come to inhale the fresh, crisp air and to entertain one another. An era before TV, the golden age of radio shines by night, but by day by golly the folks are out.

Fortunate in many ways, but in one we are not: we lack a town square. We lack that knowledge that you can fall out on a daily basis into the local pocket park and meet all your neighbors. It's why I love the yard sales that the Block Associations put on.  It's why BAiP's community-building mission is so needed.

We have forgotten how to commune in our own backyard.

The video below is extraordinary for its quality, its crystal clear sound, and the uncanny you-are-there feeling. See Straus Park -- less green, ok -- but more vibrant than you've ever seen it before. See all modes of 1930s transportation, including a rollerskater and a period pram. Get a good gander at Broadway looking north from its intersection at West End Avenue. And get a peep of the back of "Memory" -- far from the star of this movie.

It's perfection. A talkie of a time capsule. And it's yours if you click on the image above since if you are reading this in an email subscription the video won't play.

​Enjoy!

h/t to the West Side Rag comments section for bringing this beaut to the surface.

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One from the Vault: December 2006

11/15/2018

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Action, Camera, Lights Out at The Movie Place 12 Years Ago

The "One from the Vault" feature plumbs the archives of back issues of block association newsletters for new neighbors and lovers of our community and its history.  To read others pieces from the vault, click on the category at right.


By Caitlin Hawke

First, I want to note the kindness of Chris Brady who gave me permission to illustrate this post with his technicolor photos of the Movie Place (TMP), the way it was. I found them at Chris's photo feed here a while back, and they stopped me cold, for the love of a place I remember so well. I've been saving them for you.

Incredibly, gone for 12 years already, the Movie Place hasn't come close to being replaced around here in its role as a neighborhood hub drawing from north, south, east and west. Never mind its mom-and-pop-edness.

The last owner of TMP was Gary Dennis, who is equally known for his efforts to get Humphrey Bogart his due by the dubbing of W. 103rd Street for him, replete with a ceremonial appearance of Bacall. Yes, right here in Bloomingdale.

I wrote a piece about that here last year. 

Now I love Bogie and Bacall as much and perhaps more than most. But it takes a force of nature like Gary to move city elements -- NYCHA et al -- get the naming done. So I want you to remember that when you are walking the block between West End Avenue and Broadway on 103rd staring at a "This is Us" rerun on your smartphone. Look Up! For the love of the silver screen, look up. Look up from your big sleep and appreciate that you trace Humphrey DeForest Bogart's footsteps as he left his home at 245 W. 103rd St. and padded over to the Trinity School. He lived there from about December 25, 1899 until he enlisted in the navy in 1918.
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The Bogart household in the 1910 Federal census report
But I digress.

I still see Gary around from time to time. At a Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group meeting last year, he gave a great presentation on the neighborhood as portrayed in films. Many chase scenes later, he had the audience eating out of his hands.

He used to keep a wonky blog on lost cinema houses. And I think he still gives tours.  Bloomingdale born, Gary grew up loving movies. Ironic then that when it was a novelty, everyone said his was the voice that used to animate the old "Moviefone" reservation line. And that amused me. You remember the Moviephone? It's the line you dialed that responded in a quasi-human voice: "Hello, and welcome to Moviefone! Using your touchtone keypad, please enter the first three letters of the movie title now."

If you don't know the voice I am talking about, here's a fun clip. It's not, spoiler alert, Gary Dennis. But he sure coulda been a contender.

TMP lasted in situ for 22 years, and it is now gone for 12. Together, that's more than the full lifespan of the Betamax.

Yes, 12 years ago, our mecca of movies closed, and it was noteworthy enough for the New York Times to weigh in. If you never had the pleasure of pushing through the door into the high-ceilinged space bustling with first dates, lonely hearts, groups of buddies and old couples riffling through bins of movie titles, you haven't lived.

Sorry, but it was a thing.

People came from many neighborhoods away to partake. To feast in the selection.  And to go home with armfuls of movies. To come back three days later and do it all again.

It wasn't just the selection. It was the connoisseurship. The guys and a couple of gals behind the counter each had a specific taste. You could ask anyone anything and with just a few hints at what you liked, out poured 5 or 10 suggestions of other films to watch. An algorithm in flesh and blood. It's called a brain and memory, actually. And it worked.

Yet it wasn't just the connoisseurship, it was also the place.  Patina would be a nice way of describing the layers of this loft-like store. Grime would be a bridge too far. Let's call it wabi-sabi.

If the Movie Place were a rock star, it would have been Keith Richards.

Yes, technology has transformed our world since then.  And yes many don't even feel the need for a screen bigger than an iPad to enjoy a film, old or new. And yes, I'll even cede that streaming a movie is more convenient.  But algorithms will never replace synaptic encyclopedias like the brain that is Gary Dennis's or that of the employees, some of whom, thankfully, still live in the neighborhood with their dogs or their now-grown kids. And for what the human touch is still worth, you can't get that kind of prickle online. Or snark. Or voice. Or, truth be told, that warmth.

Starbucks will never replace the town-square feeling that was the Movie Place on a Friday night.  And Tindr will never be as electric with possibility as browsing the Nouvelle Vague section over a handsome guy's shoulder.

Seek no more the ghost of the Movie Place, let loose to wander since 2006. For it is here. And this one from the vault of Block Association newsletters is a David Reich original. Scroll all the way down to read it.

Enjoy!
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One from the Vault: February 2001

11/10/2018

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"Chai" Praise: as Silver Moon Bakery Turns 18

The "One from the Vault" feature plumbs the archives of back issues of block association newsletters for new neighbors and lovers of our community and its history.  To read others pieces from the vault, click on the category at right.


By Caitlin Hawke

In the February 2001 edition of the BA newsletter, Jock Davenport covered the opening of Silver Moon Bakery in November 2000.  Deep in the heart of Y2K.  In the very same month of the infamous "election."  A year before 9/11.  It's a veritable lifetime ago.  And yet 18 years have sailed by. 

Yes, other places mentioned in the piece like Mama Mexico and Turkuaz are gone, but it's nice to have moonlight glowing still.

If Jock's piece wets your whistle, there's more to read, such as the interview with Judith Norell here and an ode to a favorite hyper-local eat here.

On your 18th, I say, Judith, and to all your Silver Moon family: To life, to life, l'chaim!

Your lagniappe today is Lin-Manuel Miranda's rendition of the "Fiddler on the Roof" tune as a surprise to his bride at their wedding reception. You'll enjoy it for the showmanship even if the singing is a little dicey at times! Scroll down to view or if you are receiving this in an email subscription, click on the picture of Lin with his father-in-law below!

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If you are reading this as an email subscriber, click on the picture above to view the laginiappe video featuring Lin-Manuel Miranda.
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Seeing Red

11/7/2018

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 Seen in the Neighborhood - Memory in All Her Glory

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Memory as festooned by the very gifted floral flash pioneer Lewis Miller of Urban Stems
By Caitlin Hawke

​On a day when a random act of kindness might make all the difference, I give you this pop-up piece of human goodness. If you don't know about Flower Flash by this incredibly generous artist who, it must also be said, has a flair for great PR, it might brighten both your actual and virtual lives to learn more. 

​Flower-manipulator extraordinaire Lewis Miller made his way to the neighborhood shortly after resident gardener, Joseph Arbo, placed a wreath in the flower bed in memory of the hate crime in Pittsburgh. Two people on parallel trajectories of decency whose paths fused.
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Hang in there, siblings of this valley of flowers known as Bloomingdale. Hang in there.

Community is what makes us strong when we are challenged. 'Memory' and Straus Park stand as witnesses to this truth. 

h/t to Terence Hanrahan for the picture below and the notice of these happenings at our local trivium.
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Standing in solidarity with Pittsburgh, Joseph Arbo placed a wreath in Straus Park.

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Suffrage in Silence No More, Election Day Arrives

11/5/2018

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Tuesday, November 6 is Election Day. Do You Know Where Your Poll Is?

PictureA leaflet on the Woman Suffrage Amendment not terribly unlike what we get in the mail these days previewing the ballot so voters are better informed to navigate the voting process
By Caitlin Hawke

Thanks to the considerable efforts of a load of brave people of the female persuasion like Elizabeth Cady Stanton, her daughter and Bloomingdaler Harriot Stanton Blatch, Susan B. Anthony, and Gertrude Foster Brown, it was 101 years ago tomorrow that New York State accorded women the right to vote, helping to pave the way three years later for the 19th Amendment. And by New York State, I really mean New York City, because if you look at the county by county breakdown (scroll all the way down), our urban forebears padded the 80,000 vote margin of victory.

The day that women's suffrage was on the ballot, 12,000 women stood on corners throughout the city encouraging people of the male persuasion, aka the then voters, to grant women the vote.

They were angry women. Docile women. Black women. Chinese women. Uppity and arrogant women. Handsome and plain women. "Women who knew their place." Working women. Moms and daughters. Religious women. Temperate women. Righteous women. Organized women. Women who loved men. Women who loved women. Women who persisted.

And lo! That day nearly half a million men voted with -- and really for -- them all.

The NYC Women Suffrage Party was looking for twice that turnout in support. They advertised in Columbia's Spectator the day before shooting for a million-man team. But I can't fault them for dreaming big.

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An ad in Columbia's Spectator on November 5, 1917, the eve of voting day
PictureNotorious ECS eight years after Seneca Falls with her force-of-nature to be, daughter Harriot in 1856.
In and among all of this rich history of suffering for suffrage, there's a gem: the overlooked story of Elizabeth Cady Stanton's daughter, Harriot Stanton Blatch, is one my readers will relish. Harriot, according to Douglas Feiden writing in Our Town New York for last year's centennial, was an inveterate upper west sider who  lived at 250 Riverside Drive, right here at W. 97th Street.

Harriot had the distinction of living through most of the battle for women's suffrage, beginning as a babe in the arms of her mother, the battle's field marshal. Harriot grew to be a force to be reckoned with in Manhattan as the battle waged on to its glorious end on November 6, 1917.

Says Feiden: "Among [Blatch's] triumphs: In 1907, she founded the Equality League of Self-Supporting Women, which trained working-class women to campaign for suffrage and was “open to any woman who earns her own living, from a cook to a mining engineer. Then in 1910, she organized the city’s first blockbuster suffrage parade, a march down Fifth Avenue climaxing in a giant rally in Union Square. Blatch and thousands of like-minded activists transformed virtually every nook and cranny of Manhattan — its streets, salons, townhouses, tenements, clubhouses, concert halls, vaudeville houses, boarding houses, hotels, parks, pools, auditoriums, alleyways and office buildings — into a living, breathing operational base for the suffrage movement."

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Bloomingdaler Harriot Stanton Blatch, second from left, hanging out with a bunch of "nasty women" at the Suffragettes' HQ on Union Square
New York was far from the first state to let women into the voting club. But that's a digression. What's important is that the ultimate change came through the grassroots of the states. And that it took a long, long time. Ohio voted women's suffrage down on that same day. But New York's upvote cranked the motor hard.

Vagaries of our 'states rights' vs. 'federal rights' dynamic are evident throughout our legal system, from managing voting, to our banking system, to the electoral college to name only a few. These will likely persist, thanks to our country's reverence for its founding documents. And anyone who rides the subway knows the vagaries of state-controlled city budgets despite larger urban tax bases and headcounts.

What the story of 1917 tells us is that our populousness in the Big Apple matters. It matters to the state. And it matters to the federation. Our votes do count. History bears that out.
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Today, I am grateful to those excellent women, like the ones above, who got out there 100+ years ago in each neighborhood of NYC. The women who patiently organized for decades. The people who made up the Women's Suffrage Party. And to the half million male voters of New York State on November 6, 1917 who just plain did the right thing.

Tomorrow, five score and a year later, the country will be looking to New Yorkers again.

Find  your poll. Tip your (big, black, feathered) hat to the Stantons, 
mère et fille.  Grab your umbrella. And hit the street, thinking about what corners all across the city looked like 101 years ago: 10, 15, 30 women deep. Recall for a moment those men who voted to enfranchise at long last their wives, sisters, mothers, grandmothers, aunts and lovers in the great state of New York.

And make your way to cast your vote as if someone else's suffrage depends on you.
​
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The front page of the New York Times the day after the vote on NYS suffrage in 1917
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The county by county breakdown on the 1917 NYS vote on women's suffrage

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Nightmare on 102nd Street

11/3/2018

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When the Candy Women and Men Made It All Satisfying and Delicious

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Credit: O. Alfonso
PictureA coupla toothfairy partners-in-crime, dressed to kill! Credit: M. Vitagliano
By Caitlin Hawke

Kids weren't the only tribe out in force on Wednesday evening in Bloomingdale. Photogs Ozzie Alfonso, Celia Knight (at right in candy corn scarf, I swear!), Maria Vitagliano and David Ochoa were lying in wait to capture the wee sugar-fueled neighbors.

While one or two King Georges were spotted, there were no Hillary Rodham Clintons in the ratpack, but someone needs to say "It takes a village"!  'Cause it does.

Just look at that table of goodies below. Yowza.

PictureCredit: O. Alfonso
This was of course thanks to your Block Association vols who made it all come true.

Hat tip to child-at-heart and toothfairy accomplice Jane Hopkins (depicted above in the boa and orange witch hat), who has been the field marshal for nigh on forever -- all right, not quite that long, but you get the picture. To her team of big kids who dole out the dough. To the good folks at St. Luke's who always pitch in. To the donors who made contributions of candy, time, and dollars. And to the families who came, saw and conquered the treats and the streets.

If you are sitting on the sidelines, thankful that we have a community-building association in our midst, consider pitching in and helping the Block Association. We're looking for why-oh-ewe!  To volunteer, email us at info@w102-103blockassn.org. To become a member, click here.

And now to our gallery: "Nightmare on 102nd Street!"  If you know someone in these pictures, send them this link and tell them to subscribe to the blog: https://www.w102-103blockassn.org/blog/nightmare-on-102nd-street.

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The stage is set -- thank you to volunteers who shut down the street and moved their cars! Credit: C. Knight
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Credit: O. Alfonso
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It's not PC to say, Mlle. Donut, but watch out for the cop below! Credit: O. Alfonso
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We are your loyal, royal subjects! Credit: O. Alfonso
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Spellbound Spellbinder Credit: O. Alfonso
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Credit: O. Alfonso
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And the "Smile of the Night Award" goes to....(Credit: O. Alfonso)
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New York's finest. Credit: O. Alfonso
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Creepy Twins! Credit: O. Alfonso
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A Cubist Witch and her Warlock. Credit: O. Alfonso

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Cobfest! Credit: C. Knight
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Awaiting the trick-or-treaters. Credit: C. Knight
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I give up. Jeff Sessions? Credit: D. Ochoa
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Even the trees got into the spirit. Credit: D. Ochoa
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Boo'mingdale's Candy Women and Men Credit: M. Vitagliano
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Good and plenty ready for the hoards Credit: M. Vitagliano
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Stoop madness and all that is good in Bloomingdale. Credit: M. Vitagliano

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